


Water Up To My Knees

by spockandawe



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Sitting, First Time, Living Together, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 18:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17208626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: Your first day at Cyclonus and Tailgate’s home is… awkward? It’s awkward.And why would it be awkward having a mech fresh out of jail invade your cozy, domestic apartment, right?Crazy.Ha.No, but really, it’s awkward. You mean, when you get in, they’re both there to greet you (which is good, because going from getting released to breaking and entering in under a day would bepretty bad,even given your record), and they look like they’rehappyto see you or something? Which— ugh. You’re not that much of an aft. They’re happy to see you. And you’re so relieved to see them it hurts.Awkward, right?





	Water Up To My Knees

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/181520261848/water-up-to-my-knees-spockandawe-the)

Your first day at Cyclonus and Tailgate’s home is… awkward? It’s awkward.

And why would it be awkward having a mech fresh out of jail invade your cozy, domestic apartment, right?  _ Crazy.  _ Ha. 

No, but really, it’s awkward. You mean, when you get in, they’re both there to greet you (which is good, because going from getting released to breaking and entering in under a day would be  _ pretty bad,  _ even given your record), and they look like they’re  _ happy  _ to see you or something? Which— ugh. You’re not that much of an aft. They’re happy to see you. And you’re so relieved to see them it hurts.

Awkward, right?

So that’s a great start, from the moment you see them you’re fighting the urge to flee the scene. Aw, who are you kidding. You couldn’t bring yourself to actually do that, but you feel like you  _ ought _ to. Maybe you can be your own distant relative and what a  _ coincidence  _ to meet people who know Whirl, but you’re definitely not him, you’re his long-lost cousin… Twirl.

So that’s a productive way to waste your tiny window of opportunity, and before you can second-guess things any further, Cyclonus is—  _ hugging _ you, wow, out of line, you’re the one hugs  _ him, _ he doesn’t hug  _ you, _ and you feel Tailgate take your claw in his hand, and both of them are talking and asking how you are, how was the trip, whether you need anything, and it’s getting  _ really hard to maintain a layer of self-deprecating detachment between you and the situation—  _

Basically, it’s so awkward you’re going to die.

You kinda sorta manage to keep up with the conversation, because you were forged without a filter between brain and vocalizer, and shutting up has  _ never _ been one of your skills. Cyclonus and Tailgate herd you into the apartment and to a couch, and then they’re, ha, basically waiting on you hand and foot, and you don’t know how to deal with this. Cyclonus gets you energon, with a straw and everything, but before you can even figure out whether you’re hungry, Tailgate is setting out a glass of engex— just in case you want any, he says— and you don’t have time to process any of this before Cyclonus is back, again, putting down a platter of energon goodies, and god, they’re even the kinds you can eat with the empurata intake, and you’re fighting the urge to crash through their window and book it for the horizon.

And you’re not doing that because… Cyclonus would catch you? You guess? That must be it, or else you might have to admit to yourself that you don’t know where else you’d go.

Ugh, you’re not  _ that  _ badly off. You know how to get by. Apart from the eighty-four jail sentences, you’ve gotten by just fine. Hahaha. Ha. 

But after that first rush, things ease off a little bit. They sit on the couch, one on each side of you. Cyclonus quiets down—which is  _ so  _ unlike him, he is  _ such  _ a chatterbox—and Tailgate takes over. And lucky you, you’ve got a nice glass of energon right here to slowly, slowly sip, so Tailgate takes care of most of the conversation and you barely have to say anything at all.

Mostly, he’s talking about mutual friends, people you haven’t seen… since the funeral, basically. Brainstorm is doing  _ this,  _ Chromedome and Rewind are living  _ there,  _ Drift has an apartment in  _ that _ city, and all that business. And you guess he and Cyclonus are planning to visit them? A long trip to get back in touch with everyone? That sounds cute. You don’t know what another honeymoon is called  _ this  _ late in a relationship, especially with a couple dozen honeymoons already behind them, but that should be nice.

Then Cyclonus cuts in, quietly. “You don’t need to go if you don’t want to.”

Wait, what? Since when are  _ you _ involved?

Since the beginning! Apparently! You  _ definitely _ missed that, but Tailgate starts all over with a little more detail. Detail which makes it very clear that not only are you going on this trip, they’ve been  _ holding off  _ on the trip until you were able to join them. And that they sold their little two-person spaceship and bought one that was a bit larger. Okay. Hold on a klik.

But before you can finish that thought, Tailgate puts a hand on your arm and says, “Speaking of which— We saved one room for you, for sure. There’s not much in there yet besides the basics, we wanted you to have a chance to set it up how you wanted.”

“And the spare room,” Cyclonus adds.

“Right! We thought you might like to have a workspace to yourself? It’s not a  _ big  _ room, but if we were using it, it’d just get filled with, you know.” He waves a hand vaguely.  _ “Stuff.” _

“If there are tools or supplies you need—”

“Just let us know! Cyclonus found a few potential shops, but you know what you’d need better than we would.”

Haha. Okay.

You stand up a little too abruptly. You say, “You know, now that I’m thinking of it, that was a long trip in from Garrus-10. I could use some rest. There’s a room?”

Tailgate sounds worried when he says, “Did you—” From the corner of your optic, you can see Cyclonus reach out towards him, and his voice trails off.

So Tailgate stays where he is, and Cyclonus is the one to stand up from the couch. He’s silent, but he lightly touches your shoulder to turn you and guide you towards the hall. It’s not a huge apartment, but larger than what you would have expected Cyclonus to want for just himself and one other person.  _ Slag. _

Cyclonus doesn’t say a word until he gets to, apparently,  _ your _ room. He steps aside to clear your way in, and then says, “Take as long as you need. We won’t interrupt before you’re ready.”

You freeze for an instant, because you don’t really have a reply to that, and also  _ oh come on, _ you can’t be  _ that _ easy to read, you’ve got a built-in poker face. And, uh, where could he have gotten whatever idea he apparently has, of course. You’re just tired from your trip. From Garrus-10. Which is what you said.

Lucky you, you don’t have to come up with  _ any  _ answer, because he’s already turned and is heading back down the hallway. You get to just close your door and pretend like that last comment never actually happened. Perfection! More awkward moments in your life should definitely resolve that way.

When you look over the room, Tailgate was right on the money. It’s the basics, the only furniture is a recharge slab and a chair, but there’s also shelving along the edge of the room with— with a shiny new console already in place on it. Of course there is. Right, not looking at the new stuff now. Let’s look at the actual serious honest-to-god  _ balcony,  _ this room has a  _ balcony,  _ one that’s large enough for you to fly out straight from your room into the city. Yep, okay,  _ not looking at that either. _

You settle down on the shiny new recharge slab and stare up at the shiny new ceiling. You’re absolutely not going to be able to sleep, even if you were actually tired. No, you’ll just stare at the ceiling and fight the urge to slip out the balcony door while nobody is looking. Which you aren’t going to do. Nope. Come on, running away just because people  _ want _ you here? Even  _ you _ know how stupid that is.

But even without sleeping, staring at the ceiling is a great way to waste time. Even multiple hours! Which is what you do. Literally hours. Of staring. Are there better ways to handle this? Almost certainly! But you’re planning to stay right here and stare at this ceiling until you can convince yourself that no, really, this isn’t a big deal, and if you want to live with Cyclonus and Tailgate, and Cyclonus and Tailgate want you to live with them, then the way to resolve this situation is actually  _ pretty straightforward. _

It’s almost half a day later when you actually convince yourself that this is maybe possibly true. And that you should probably go acknowledge the presence of the mechs who have invited you into their nice new home and allowed you to take over a room. Two rooms. Right. They want to give you a  _ workroom.  _ How are you supposed to deal with this??

No, you’ve gotta do it. You need to… talk. To them. Not  _ about _ the situation, let’s not get carried away. Just… talking. In general.

You slip out the door and down the hall before you can second-guess yourself. You mean, any more than you already have. Ha. 

It’s only a few steps to the main room, and Cyclonus and Tailgate are sitting together on the couch, talking quietly, holding hands, gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes, et cetera, and awww, that continues to be the  _ cutest _ thing.

Though they look over at you when you step into the room, whoops. Tailgate drops Cyclonus’s hands and jumps to his feet, so there’s an end to that adorable scene, you guess.

Tailgate comes right over to you and takes your claws in his hands. He looks up at you so earnestly it hurts, and says, “We want you to be happy here.”

Ha, well, you guess you’re cutting right to the chase then. You say, “Okay.”  _ Nailed it. _

Cyclonus says, “Tailgate,” and Tailgate turns, and they exchange some meaningful looks that are clearly saying  _ something,  _ but you’ve got no clue what it could be. And that’s a cute couple thing and all, and they’ve been doing it since literally before they even got together, but it would be  _ really nice  _ if they could save it for a time that’s slightly less… fraught.

Not that this is a fraught conversation. Or anything.

Oh, who are you kidding, you can’t even keep your internal stories straight anymore.

Tailgate is still holding your claws, or you might have tried to subtly drift away by now. Maybe even drift right out that window. How thick could the glass be? You’re still wondering if breaking and  _ exiting _ is a criminal offense when Cyclonus abruptly stands and crosses the room. He doesn’t come straight to you, but steps around Tailgate to your opposite side. That leaves you with open space behind you and a path to the window instead of boxing you in. You want to know, one, whether he did that on purpose, and two, which answer to the first question would stress you out less.

Cyclonus and Tailgate are still doing the communicating-with-our-optics thing—which,  _ rude,  _ some people in the room are less endowed than the others—but Cyclonus reaches up with one hand to touch your shoulder. You try not to twitch. Hand-holding, affectionate touches, what do they think this is, a  _ friendship? _

Tailgate turns deliberately away from Cyclonus and looks back up at you.  _ “And _ we want you here with us.”

Cyclonus sighs. “Of course we do.”

They seem like they’re waiting for something from you. “Okay?” You’re probably pushing how much mileage you can expect to get from that one word, but  _ wow _ do you have no idea what else you’re supposed to say.

They glance at each other for a moment, real quick, then Tailgate gives your claws a little shake for emphasis and says,  _ “With  _ us.”

Oh.

Uh.

You reset your vocalizer, trying to remember how to make your words go, but before you can speak, Cyclonus interrupts you.

“Please don’t say ‘okay.’”

Oh, now this you can do.  _ “Rude,” _ you say instead. What a rude mech. A rude, rude mech who has offered you a place in his home and hahahaaaaaa apparently that’s not  _ all _ he’s offering— 

“Only so he knows you’re not repeating it on autopilot,” Tailgate says, with a little bit of an actual edge in his voice. “Right?”

You’re a bit frozen, still stuck staring at Tailgate, but you can feel Cyclonus watching you closely. His hand drifts down from your shoulder to your back. He says, “So that you have time to consider the offer. So that you don’t feel… pressured. To answer immediately. Or to accept.”

“Cyclonus—” Tailgate drops one of your claws to reach out and touch Cyclonus’s hip, and they lock optics again for a nanoklik. You’re still trying to figure out whether you can steal your second claw back, and whether you  _ want _ to steal it back, when Tailgate turns back to you and captures claw number one again. 

He says, “No matter what you decide, this can still be your home. If you want it. Either way,  _ we  _ still want you here.” Then the edge is back in his voice again as he glances at Cyclonus. “We’d still  _ like _ you. With us.”

Cyclonus sighs, but his voice is fond when he says, “Of course we would.” You can still feel the prickle of his claws against your plating.

They’ve both been touching you since this conversation started, you suddenly realize, and you _really_ wish you could tell whether it’s _too much_ and you need it stop, or whether you’ve been starved for something like this for years. And they’re both still watching you. Wait, you still need to answer. Answer? Or just— reply? You need to _say something,_ let’s leave it at that.

Of course, thinking about what to even say to that is a whole other problem that you have not even started to deal with. You feel like you know what you  _ should _ say, and that’s a different thing from what your processor keeps  _ trying _ to say, and you can’t tell what is common sense versus what you want versus self-sabotage versus the inevitable death spiral your life always becomes, plus you haven’t actually thought any of this through, but your vocalizer activates, and you find yourself saying, “Sure.”

Tailgate peers up at you, looking concerned. “You don’t...  _ have _ to say yes.”

“You shouldn’t,” Cyclonus adds, and now that is just unfair, talk about mixed messages. His hand comes back up to grip your shoulder, reassuring and firm. “Not right away. Not if you aren’t certain.”

See though, that’s the trouble with you, telling you to wait and take your time and think about it is almost definitely the wrong decision. The longer that problem just  _ sits,  _ the stronger the temptation gets to set off a big dramatic explosion and focus on that exciting  _ new _ problem instead. 

Like right now, your processor is already trying to backtrack on that response, and it’s been what, two nanokliks? You’re not even sure  _ why  _ you’d take it back. You guess it’s not a question of whether you  _ want _ it, but you still can’t tell if it’s because this would be bad for them, or bad for you, though let’s be real you don’t know how this would be bad for you, except oh wait what if they decide they hate it slash you after all and then they decide the whole thing was a mistake and kick you out, and  _ there _ you go, it would be bad for  _ all _ of you, you’ve got your answer.

Somehow, miraculously, you do  _ not _ actually say any of that out loud. They’re still both watching you, and you force your vocalizer back online and manage, “You really,  _ really  _ don’t want to give me the chance to second-guess that decision.”

They exchange a concerned look (you try not to wince) and Cyclonus says, “Provisional agreement, then.”

Tailgate cuts in with, “You can always decide it’s not working out after all. That’s fine too! We can talk about it.” Ooh, yeah, you definitely wince that time. He hastily adds. “Or not talk! Not talking is also okay!”

Not talking about this is  _ absolutely _ something you can do. You are so good at not talking about important things. The best. It helps that as soon as that’s settled, they both back off and give you some more space. You still can’t tell if the space is a relief or a disappointment, but hey, that’s just something else to never ever talk (or think) about.

The balance they strike between giving you space and keeping you company is so measured that you can tell it  _ has _ to be deliberate. Sometimes one of them leaves the apartment, but you’re never left there on your lonesome,  _ but  _ they also give you plenty of time to yourself even while they’re in. And there’s lots of time when both of them are around the place. You’re  _ strongly _ tempted to ask whether this is just because they don’t want to leave you unsupervised in their nice new home, but even you can tell that you’re not being reasonable there.

Once or twice when they both seem distracted, you slip into the room that’s— the one that’s  _ your _ workroom, apparently. You don’t really stay long before leaving and pretending like you never did anything, nope, nothing suspicious here. The room is small, like they said, but almost empty. There’s a table up against one wall—lots of empty surface area to work with—and a chair. Nothing else, even though you know they  _ do _ have actual personal possessions. Despite Cyclonus. 

And when (in a moment of weakness) you ping Cyclonus with a list of tools and materials you’d like to buy—which you send in the middle of the night, you’re not doing this when he’s  _ awake _ —it isn’t even half a day later when he informs you that the things you wanted are in the spare room, just let him know if there are any problems. Oh, now that is just unfair. You’re never going to win a niceness competition, you’re just not built for it. They’re going to nice you into the ground, you’ll never even stand a chance.

Plus the touching keeps being a thing. A regular thing. But it’s light enough and casual enough that you never really get the chance to decide if you  _ like _ it or not. You think you might. Maybe? You don’t know, why does anyone expect you to have these answers? But Cyclonus will touch your arm to get your attention, or put a hand on your shoulder while Tailgate is talking to the two of you, or Tailgate will rest a hand on your leg while you’re sitting and talking, or he’ll sometimes grab your claw when he’s getting excited and telling you about something. You’d joke about how it’s weird, it’s almost like they  _ like _ you, except no, because they definitely,  _ definitely _ confirmed outright that yes, they  _ absolutely _ do like you.  _ Stressful. _

But what’s unfair, what’s  _ really _ unfair, is how easy it is to fall back into sync with them. You don’t know  _ how _ it’s unfair, but you’re pretty sure it  _ is. _

You mean, it’s been approximately forever since you saw them. You’re pretty sure almost all those jail sentences happened between the last time you saw them and the funeral. And even then, the part where you actually lived anywhere near each other was _ages_ before that. But no, look at you, chatting away like the _Lost Light_ just got decommissioned yesterday, being all used to them, and _comfortable_ with them, and how awkward is _that?_

Plus. The most awkward thing. Which you refuse to even acknowledge. Is that you actually catch yourself starting to reciprocate with the whole physical affection thing. You’re sitting and talking a little with Tailgate, but mostly catching up on all the shows you missed while society told you to sit in a corner and think about what you’ve done. He’s got his hand on your claw again, which you’ve kind of mostly gotten used to.

And then you realize. Wait. The two of you are  _ holding hands. _ Not even just Tailgate holding  _ your _ hand, because you’ve also got your claw lightly closed around his fingers. When did  _ this _ start happening?? You don’t even get a chance to figure it out, because by then you’re too busy realizing all the ways you’re reacting to both of them, and you realize you’re  _ comfortable _ around them, which, since when—? You weren’t built for this kind of introspection, this just isn’t fair.

But it does mean that when you’re talking to both of them about, you dunno, something unimportant, and notice that Tailgate is holding both your claws and Cyclonus is shoulder to shoulder with you… You realize you  _ don’t _ actually feel like diving out a window and sprinting for the horizon.  _ Weird. _

You think Tailgate notices that little moment too, because he pauses, looking at you closely, and says, “I know we said we wouldn’t pressure you—” Cyclonus makes a disapproving little noise and Tailgate presses on, “I’m  _ not  _ pressuring him. I just want to know if this is— okay? If things have been okay?”

By all rights, you should be putting an escape plan into action right about now, or at least throwing together a hasty escape plan for imminent use, but instead you catch yourself half-laughing as you answer, “Things have been— good.”

_ Good. _ Just look at you. A perfect window to use ‘okay’, and you had to go and actually commit to an opinion. 

You’re just going to ignore the way Tailgate beams up at you, and the way you can see Cyclonus from the corner of your optic, turning his head away and smiling.

Despite that, there are apparently still whole new lows for you to sink to, and within a few days you catch yourself—get this—actually  _ initiating _ those little affectionate touches. Things are basically out of control.

But that’s not even as far as it goes! Because then. Primus.  _ Then  _ you realize that your thoughts keep drifting to— Okay. So. When two mechs love each other  _ very, very much  _ (or are running a charge and want to blow off some steam), there are certain…  _ things. _ That tend to happen. Not always, of course, but come on. Just  _ look _ at these two. Besides, you’ve seen the size of the berth they put in their room.

...And the longer this goes, the more certain you become that they’re waiting on  _ you  _ to raise the subject. Wow, first of all, rude.  _ And _ unfair. You’re still trying to work out the basics here. Besides, your last real experience with this was with the Wreckers, where pretty much everyone was fragging everyone, and the only real question was whether you could find a free room where you wouldn’t get caught.

You manage. Eventually. _Eventually._ To kind of sort of come at the topic. From a side angle. You... dance around it. _If_ they were thinking, hypothetically, about a certain sort of situation, which might at some point in the future come up, _possibly—_ Thank god for not having a face, is all you’re saying, because you don’t ever want to know what kind of expression you would be making right now.

Tailgate gradually starts to realize what you mean, which is good, because much longer and your only other option would have been to die in sheer self-defense. He’s holding your claws again while you talk, which seems to have become his new favorite thing, and you see the moment his face lights up and he  _ gets  _ it.

He says, “Oh! You mean we—” He turns to glance at Cyclonus and then back to you. “Do you mean you  _ want _ that? Now? Or that you might eventually—? Because now is good, if that’s what you want, now is  _ definitely _ good—”

Cyclonus rests a hand on your shoulder, and says, “Tailgate.”

Tailgate heaves a sigh and says, “I’m not  _ pressuring _ him. I’m  _ asking.” _

You can feel Cyclonus gearing up for some kind of long, stern conversation, and there you go, that’s the little boost you apparently needed to nudge you into being actually straightforward about this. 

So before you can think too hard about whether this is a good idea or not, you say, “Now? Now works.”

Both of them freeze, their hands still on you. Tailgate shifts like he wants to look at Cyclonus, but he doesn’t take his optics off you.

Cyclonus carefully says, “You’re certain?”

“Pretty certain?”

Tailgate adds. “Really? And it’s not just because we—?”

“Hey, sometimes I think of things all on my own, it’s been known to happen.” You manage a little bit of a laugh. You’re trying to be at least a little flippant, but you’re not sure it’s actually working.

There’s no immediate response to that. Cyclonus reaches out with his free hand to touch Tailgate’s arm, and they lock optics for a long moment. When Tailgate turns back to you, he says, “Right now?”

“Sure?”  _ Why not! _

Tailgate’s hands shift on your claws, holding them a little more firmly, and then, “Cyclonus,” he orders. “Do the thing.”

“Of course,” he says—and he’s  _ smiling _ , wow, you will never get used to that—and before you realize what’s happening, he reaches up to cup your helm with one hand and leans in, pressing a kiss to the side of your face.

He doesn’t stop there either. He leaves his hand on your helm, but his head drops and— that is your  _ neck _ , that is definitely his mouth on your neck, you can feel his teeth against the metal and that’s his tongue tracing the edges of your plating. Tailgate still has you trapped in hand-holding jail, so you can’t  _ do _ much, but you’re not sure what you would do even if you were free. Most of your focus is taking up with trying not to shiver every time Cyclonus’s mouth moves against you. You’re not really winning that fight, but you’re  _ trying. _

Tailgate says, “This is still okay?”

Wait, okay, you need to actually focus on answering that question. Shouldn’t be that hard, but you still have to reboot your vocalizer before you can manage a slightly strangled,  _ “Absolutely.” _

That makes Cyclonus smile, you can feel it against your neck.

“Good,” Tailgate says. “Tell us if that changes.” He pauses for a moment, then tugs on your claws and adds, “You’re both too tall! Get down here.”

Oh, now that is not fair. Because one, it makes Cyclonus pull away from your neck, and two, Tailgate is expecting a  _ lot _ out of your motor control skills right now. Lucky for you, Cyclonus mostly manages the logistics, though Tailgate has to let go of your claws as Cyclonus gets the two of you situated kneeling on the floor, sitting back on your heels. That’s nice, it leaves you at just about Tailgate-height. 

Tailgate steps right up to take advantage of that, beaming at both of you. Cyclonus reaches out to him first, smiling openly again, and moves a hand to rest against Tailgate’s helm, gently pulling him in close enough for Cyclonus to kiss his faceplate. The kiss is soft and lingering, and you have to fight the urge to look away, but Cyclonus breaks away before you decide whether you shouldn’t be watching. He leans his forehead against Tailgate’s for a moment, still smiling, but then he pulls back— and both of them turn to look at you.

You freeze, feeling slightly,  _ slightly _ trapped. You can feel Cyclonus slip an arm around your waist, his hand resting over your hip and his claws just barely prickling at the wires in the joint. He doesn’t make any further moves, though, it’s Tailgate who steps up and takes your helm in both hands, studying you closely for a moment.

He asks, “Still good?”

“Still good,” you echo. Do you mean that? You’re pretty sure you mean that, you’re just feeling a little— lost.

His hands drop from your face down to your chest, drifting over the plating, exploring. He looks you over for a moment, then turns to lock optics with you again. “Do you know what you want?”

And—ha—you did  _ not  _ think this through beforehand, but small hands are able to get all  _ sorts _ of interesting places. He’s barely even gotten started, but he’s already finding lots of little vents and joints that you never really considered because one, claws, and two,  _ big _ claws. And it’s not like the Wreckers were classically known for their delicate manual dexterity skills. You had— You had no idea how sensitive some of these joints were until now. His fingers slip between plates and then move on again before you can even finish processing the new sensation.

Oh, right, he asked you a question. Do you know what do you want? Well. You try, “No?”

He laughs. “That’s fine! We just don’t want you to feel—” He glances for a moment at Cyclonus. “Like you don’t get a say.”

“Mmm,” says Cyclonus. He leans in a little closer, his fingers sliding even further into your hip. 

That’s— You’ve had people play with your hips before, it’s a nice, obvious gap in your armor, but he’s working his claws delicately through the wires, moving deeper and deeper. One of his claws scrapes across the surface of the actual ball joint, and you can’t stop yourself from shuddering.

“Good?” asks Tailgate, with his fingers buried deep in your vents.

Words aren’t happening right at this moment, but you do at least nod. This probably ought to be embarrassing, you should be able to hold out longer than  _ this,  _ but in your defense, it’s been a  _ very _ long time since you did anything like this, and these two have been on making their (very enthusiastic) conjunx endurae victory lap  _ last,  _ all through the many,  _ many _ years it’s been since you parted ways.

Casually, Tailgate says, “When you get the chance to turn the tables on him, Cyclonus likes to pretend his wings aren’t sensitive, but they  _ definitely _ are. And if you start playing with the transformation seams between them and his shoulders—”

“Tailgate,” Cyclonus protests.

“It’s the truth!”

You probably ought to say something at some point, but you’re a  _ little  _ distracted by both of their hands still under your plating, brushing up against all sorts of components that nobody’s touched in a very long time. Tailgate has found the underside of your cockpit, which is sensitive even at the best of times, but right now he is making it  _ very _ hard to think your way to the end of a sentence.

You don’t even want to think about how hot your frame must be running right now. What little self-control you once possessed has apparently withered away and died. Your one comfort is that Cyclonus isn’t  _ that  _ far behind you. He might look all stiff and controlled— _ classic  _ Cyclonus—but you’re close enough to feel all the heat his frame is giving off. You’re not sure what has him going, because he’s the one doing most of the touching and hasn’t gotten much back in return, but you know what? You’ll take what you can get.

Tailgate looks a bit less affected, but he’s still standing back a little ways, having fun with your frame like he goes around sticking fingers in everyone’s vents all the time, watching you and Cyclonus.

Then, like it’s something that just comes up in normal casual conversation, he says, “Whirl, what if Cyclonus used his mouth on your valve?”

You freeze. 

Cyclonus, on the other hand, shifts minutely, and you can actually  _ hear _ his fans kick up a notch. Well that’s— something. You don’t know  _ what _ it is, but it sure is… something. 

Tailgate repeats, “Whirl?”

_ Oh.  _ Right. “Sounds good to me?”

You’re expecting Tailgate to take his fingers out of your vents, so when it happens, you manage not to do anything more embarrassing than shiver. He reaches out to Cyclonus and takes his face in his hands, both of them staring into each other’s optics. After a moment, he leans in far enough to rest his forehead against Cyclonus’s for a moment, then turns to look at you. One of his hands drops to rest Cyclonus’s neck, and he puts the other one on your shoulder.

“Cyclonus on the floor,” he says, decisively. “Then, Whirl, you can kneel over him. If that works for you?”

Sure! Why not. And you might be distracted, but you can feel how hot Cyclonus is running as Tailgate talks. Aw, that is cute.

Too bad that while you’re noticing how cute they’re being that you totally miss it when Cyclonus starts to move, so you’re not ready for it when his fingers slide out of your hip joint, and your vocalizer glitches out in an audible burst of static. And if either of them couldn’t hear your fans before, they can  _ definitely _ hear them now.

You think Tailgate’s trying not to laugh as he reaches up to your helm with both hands, but honestly, you can’t blame him, that was  _ hilarious.  _

“Cyclonus, lie back,” he says. “Whirl, right here—”

You can guess where he’s trying to put you, but you let him herd you into position, kneeling right over Cyclonus’s face. Wow, it sure is lucky you don’t tend to feel self-conscious, or this would feel  _ pretty  _ awkward right now.

Tailgate sets himself up in beside you, one hand on your shoulder, looking between you and Cyclonus. He nods with satisfaction, and looks at you and asks, “This is good?”

“If I had thumbs, you would be getting a thumbs-up,” you say. Okay, so maybe you  _ do _ occasionally feel a little self-conscious.

Luckily, it makes for a  _ great  _ distraction when Cyclonus runs his thumb along your array panel and Tailgate laughs and says, “Open?”

Oh yes, open is  _ absolutely  _ fine by you, the tricky part was  _ not _ opening your panel the moment Cyclonus touched it. You sigh with relief as your spike pressurizes, and you’re tense with anticipation, ready for Cyclonus to get a move on.

He doesn’t waste any time. His hands settle on your hips and then his mouth is on you, and you arch back before you realize what you’re doing. His hands hold you in place, hold your array against his face, and that’s his lips on your node, that’s his tongue in your valve, that’s pressure and movement and  _ heat _ from his mouth, and you lied, you weren’t ready at all. You don’t want him to  _ stop, _ but you definitely weren’t ready.

Just as you think you might,  _ might _ be starting to get yourself back under control, you feel a touch on your spike and choke off an embarrassing noise. That’s— Cyclonus’s hands are still on your hips, you can feel them. What—?

_ Right. _ Ha. More than one person here with you. You definitely weren’t so distracted you forgot that. Your optic went offline at some point, but you manually reset it and manage to focus on Tailgate. He’s watching you closely, with one hand on your spike, the other hovering over your chest. He looks— uncertain? About what, you don’t know, your focus is a  _ little _ shot right now. Your legs are shaking with how much you want to move, how you want to bear down against Cyclonus even more, but he holds you perfectly still and it’s torture and it’s  _ perfect. _

Tailgate strokes your spike, slowly, but honestly, given how enthusiastic Cyclonus apparently is, you don’t  _ need _ fast. He’s still watching you, and you still don’t know what he wants, but it’s a little hard to get yourself to pay attention to that question past, you know, the way Cyclonus’s tongue is buried in your valve right now.

After a moment, he says, “Whirl, can you bend forward?”

What?

“I can’t reach,” he adds.

You’re still not sure what exactly he’s after, but after a nanoklik, you manage to pull yourself together enough to force your spinal strut to relax. It’s hard to get yourself to make that first move, but once you do— It changes the angle of Cyclonus’s mouth against you, and you make a sharp noise and curl forward over him. You grab at his horns—which doesn’t work too well, you’re a  _ little _ distracted for precision claw work right now—but Cyclonus,  _ frag,  _ Cyclonus makes a noise against your valve, and drags you down harder against him.

And— Right. Tailgate wanted you for something. Did he tell you what that was? Would you remember even if he did? You’re running into a dead end there, but then you feel Tailgate’s hand under your chin, right where your helm meets your neck, turning your face towards him. You lock optics with him and don’t remember how to look away. His hand is holding you steady and his other hand is still on your spike, and that’s Cyclonus’s tongue against your node, and it’s almost impossible to  _ think— _

Tailgate says, “Cyclonus, you should touch yourself.”

Cyclonus makes another noise against your valve, and you can  _ feel  _ it, and you’d probably echo it too except for the way your vocalizer glitches out hard. One of his hands drops from your hips and you can feel him shifting under you, as his mouth works against your valve, and you can’t see him, but you can  _ imagine— _

You’re not ready for the overload, and it takes you by surprise. Tailgate’s hand is still on your spike, Cyclonus is still holding you against him, neither of them lets up at all as it builds and builds. Your legs are shaking hard, and you’re— sort of managing to hold onto Cyclonus’s horns, though you don’t know how much you’re really accomplishing there. It feels like it lasts forever, and your optic slipped offline again at some point, but you can still feel Tailgate’s hand on your face as their touches become suddenly  _ too much,  _ and you switch from trying to pull Cyclonus harder against you to trying to weakly push both of them away.

They get the idea on their own, which is good, because you are  _ not _ prepared to make the words go right now. You’re feeling very, very limp at the moment, and your biggest dream in life is to just— flop on the floor for a klik or two. But you are thwarted  _ (thwarted!),  _ and nobody is letting you flop properly. Tailgate kind of props you up for a moment while Cyclonus shifts from under you, but then before you can manage to slide off Tailgate and onto the floor, there’s Cyclonus again, with an arm around your waist, easing you back to settle against— his chest? You think that’s his chest.  _ Fine,  _ you’ll settle for that as an acceptable flopping location.

The other two are talking… at you? Around you? You dunno, you’re busy with all this hot flopping action to handle  _ words. _ And waiting for your overclocked processor to catch up with current events. That’s a factor too. Come on, it’s been a couple million years since you’ve done this, you deserve a  _ little  _ slack.

Right, first step. Where are you? Uh. Sitting in Cyclonus’s lap. Apparently. Maybe you should have realized that a bit sooner, all things considered. It seems like he got up while you were busy trying to fall over. He’s kneeling now, and has you sorta-sitting, sorta-sprawling in his lap, with arms around your waist holding you there. Which is good, because you’re still not ready to handle that responsibility  _ quite  _ yet. Wow, how out of it  _ were _ you?

Oh, and words. Those are still a thing. They’re not directed at you, though. Tailgate is standing right in front of your shoulder, one hand on your cockpit, one… somewhere else? Optics, you have one of those, right. When you look, he’s reaching over your shoulder to cup the side of Cyclonus’s face. They’re talking to each other quietly, and good, good, that hopefully means you haven’t missed anything important. 

And aww, you’ve got a front seat to the Cyclonus-and-Tailgate show again. That continues to be extremely cute, except for, you know, the many lingering questions you are never ever going to vocalize about whether you’re supposed to be  _ watching _ or giving them  _ privacy. _

Though. At this particular moment, they’ve noticed you watching them and now they’re both looking at  _ you.  _ That could have been planned better.

Tailgate puts both his hands up to the side of your helm now, studying your face intently. He asks, “That was good? Everything’s okay?”

_ Well.  _ There’s that trapped feeling again. You try, “....yes?”

Tailgate says, “Good!” Cyclonus doesn’t say anything (which is good, because you’re doing a mediocre job of answering even one person), but his arms settle a little more firmly around your waist.

You’re still trying to catch up to everything that’s already happening, but you  _ are _ belatedly realizing that you’re basically sandwiched between Cyclonus and Tailgate. Huh. That’s a… thing. 

Then, you’re still trying to process  _ that _ when Tailgate drops one hand from your face and reaches out to Cyclonus again. On the one hand, you could probably use a slow moment or two to drag your processor into the present, but on the other hand, not giving you the time to overthink absolutely everything has been working out  _ real _ well so far. Would you even be here right now if you hadn’t tricked yourself into giving this a chance? Probably not! 

Though actually, it looks like you’re getting that moment after all. Cyclonus shifts a bit underneath you, leaning forward, and you think at first that he’s moving you off his lap. But his arms stay right around your waist. Tailgate is leaning forward too, and  _ oh. _

They meet over your shoulder, Tailgate still with one hand on you, but reaching out to Cyclonus with the other. Cyclonus kisses him all slow and tender, both of them leaning into you, holding you between them. Cyclonus breaks away first and sighs, and you can  _ just _ see a faint little smile on his face. He tilts his head into Tailgate’s hand, his optics dimming as he leans into the touch. You can’t see exactly what’s happening there, but from the look of thing— You almost think that Tailgate has his fingers under the edges of Cyclonus’s helm and is playing with the cables in his neck.

When Cyclonus shudders underneath you, his fans skipping a beat, you’re pretty sure that yeah, that’s  _ exactly  _ what’s happening. Tailgate is a  _ menace _ with those tiny little hands. 

Now this is a fun show. You can’t really see the action, but Tailgate is watching Cyclonus and Cyclonus is  _ thoroughly  _ distracted, and you mean. They’re the ones who invited you here in the first place, you’re totally allowed to watch them being adorable together.

Then Cyclonus moves underneath you, his hips shifting and his arms tightening around you, and you feel something against your aft—

Oh,  _ ha. _ You feel ‘something’ against your aft, more like ‘did you ever notice Cyclonus overloading, don’t bother answering that, because the answer is no.’ You take a little bit of initiative for a change. You totally know how to do that thing. You brace your feet against the floor, pushing your aft just  _ slightly  _ back into him. His head jerks in place, his optics flashing online, and you even hear him draw in a sharp intake of air. Not that you’re keeping score, because you would definitely be losing, but that is  _ totally _ a point for you. 

So you rock back against him again, because seriously, how are you supposed to do anything else after that? You’re sure  _ he _ knows what you’re doing, but it takes a few nanokliks for Tailgate to catch on. By that point, you’ve got your aft pressed right up against Cyclonus’s spike, and you can feel his hips twitching underneath under you every time you shift your weight.

Tailgate laughs out loud once he realizes what’s happening. He steps back a tiny bit, which means he stops touching Cyclonus  _ and _ you, which is an  _ extremely _ rude move, and you’re very disappointed in him.

Then he says, “Whirl, do you want to ride Cyclonus?” 

So you  _ suppose _ you can forgive him.

Cyclonus’s arms stay around you, but now his claws prick against your plating, and you can feel how hot his frame is already running, so you think you can make some guesses on his feelings about the matter. And you’re  _ absolutely _ fine with these plans, but you don’t really feel like… moving. So you say, “Like this?”

‘Like this’ sounds good to everyone, apparently. You mean, Tailgate  _ maybe _ has to help you and Cyclonus sort out your legs before ‘like this’ is something that can actually work, but details, details.

You end up kneeling, still in Cyclonus’s lap with your back against his chest, your legs spread around his. Tailgate is kneeling in front of you both, facing you, making sure you’re both arranged to his satisfaction. He nudges Cyclonus’s legs a little further apart and nods.

That’s all the signal you need. Cyclonus is great with his mouth, turns out, but sometimes you just  _ need _ a nice spike to really make things perfect, and you haven’t had the chance to do any of this in an unfairly long time. You sink down onto his spike maybe a  _ little _ quickly, considering just how long it  _ has _ been. But you don’t even care, it might sting but it hurts just right and it feels much too perfect having something  _ in you _ right now to even consider slowing down and taking your time.

Cyclonus has his hands resting on your waist, letting you move, but as you settle into place on his lap, his grip tightens and his claws bite into your plating. You can feel the tension in his frame and the heat his fans are pouring off. From the way Tailgate laughs affectionately and reaches over your shoulder to pat Cyclonus's cheek, you think he can tell the same thing,

This time, Cyclonus is letting you move as much as you want, but the pressure of his grip on your waist is reminding you very, very vividly of just how ridiculously  _ strong _ he is. He’s not holding you tight enough to do any actual damage, not even tight enough to dent your plating, but you can definitely feel just how hard he’s working to keep his grip that delicate. 

_ Nice.  _

That realization is a fresh burst of heat in your frame, and if there was any question of whether you were ready for round two, that’s become a non-issue, the only issue here is going to be if someone tries to get you to  _ stop.  _

Tailgate kneels down in front of you, and you’re so distracted by how perfect Cyclonus’s spike feels and the way it’s rubbing up against all these nodes that haven’t been touched in many, many years, that it takes you way too long to realize that Tailgate is presumably planning to participate in some way.

You still haven’t one hundred percent articulated that thought in your head when you feel Tailgate’s hand on your array, making the whole point a little moot. That’s not a problem, though, that is the opposite of a problem, the only problem here is twisting your cockpit far enough out of the way to get a real good look at him.

He doesn’t look up at you, his optics are locked between your and Cyclonus’s legs. You rise up and sink down on him again, just to see the way he leans in real close to watch, bracing his free hand on Cyclonus’s thigh.

Then you feel his finger rub a circle  _ right _ against your anterior node, and your hips jerk so hard that Cyclonus’s spike almost slips out of you altogether.  _ There’s _ that grip, though, now Cyclonus is holding you where you are, tight enough to be just on the edge of denting your plating. It feels good and if (theoretically) this is supposed to become a… regular  _ thing,  _ you just might have to force yourself to have a little talk with him about just how hard you really want him to go with you.

For the moment, you let your weight settle. His grip loosens again as you feel his spike stretch you out, right on the edge of what your frame can handle right now. On the one hand, kind of sad how out of practice you are, but on the other hand, this sure is a nice way to get back in the game.

When you focus on Tailgate again, now he has both hands down between your legs, out of sight. You can still feel one hand teasing at your node, but the other— You’re at a loss for what he’s doing until you start moving again, and you can feel Tailgate’s hand against your valve, feel his hand around Cyclonus’s spike where it’s pressing into you, shifting with you as you move up and down against Cyclonus. 

It’s not as good as what he’s doing with your node, but it’s undeniably nice hearing the way Cyclonus’s fans stutter, or the little sounds he makes that aren’t  _ quite _ vocalizations, or even just feeling the way he leans forward into you, craning over your shoulder for a view of what Tailgate is doing.

It’s a pretty solid setup, you’re pretty much thinking you’re going to ride this ( _ ha _ ) all the way to your second overload, but then Tailgate speaks up. “Hold still, I’m getting on.”

You and Cyclonus both freeze at the same time, then slowly exchange a hilariously synchronized look.

As Tailgate climbs to his feet, Cyclonus is the one to speak up (though you’re close enough to hear him reset his vocalizer twice). Tailgate steadies himself using your shoulder, puts one foot on Cyclonus’s leg, and Cyclonus says, “I’m not sure this is the best idea.”

Tailgate scowls. “I’ve been patient! And I want to get in on this before it’s over.”

You’re trying not to laugh, because you don’t know how well that will go over and you will maybe probably definitely die if you accidentally kill the scene, but you manage, “I think you’re just going to fall off.”

The noise you hear from Cyclonus feels like the sound a mech would make if he was amused but had a deathly allergy to laughter. Theoretically.  _ Just saying. _

Tailgate holds onto the scowl for a moment longer before he laughs outright. He says, “I could do it! You know I could, I bet you five shanix that I can ride him just fine."

Cyclonus leans far enough forward that he can hook his chin over your shoulder and look down from Tailgate to your spike. Drily, he says, “I think you’re going to be hit in the head with a cockpit.”

He is absolutely positively correct, and you will  _ take  _ that five-shanix bet just to see that happen. For a moment, you think Tailgate is going to hold out and go for it, but then he heaves a sigh. “I guess you’re right. But still, I want in.”

Cyclonus takes one hand from your waist, reaching forward around you to caress the side of Tailgate’s helm. His voice is warm when he asks, “How would you like us?”

Ooh, wow. That  _ ‘us’. _ That sure is a thing. A thing where you have no clue how you feel about it. At least you’ve got a few nanokliks while Tailgate thinks the question over.

“Me on my back,” he says, decisively. “And  _ both _ of you over me.”

You can feel Cyclonus’s answer just fine, in the way his fans skip a beat and speed up, never mind in the way you can see it on his face from the corner of your optic.

And then Tailgate turns to look at you and says, “Whirl?”

Wait, what? You weren’t listening. No, no, that’s right, you totally were. And you could definitely finish, the way you and Cyclonus are right now, but you’re not going to say no to getting even  _ more. _ “Sure,” you manage.

“Good!” Tailgate says. “Good. Then I’ll lay down, and both of you just—”

Yeah, you can follow what he’s saying pretty well, though you’re at a loss for how to wrangle the logistics of this. It’s not… hard or anything. But you’re very strongly opposed to  _ not _ having Cyclonus’s spike in your valve, even for just a few moments. You’re a conscientious objector to not-being-spiked.

Lucky for you, Cyclonus seems to feel similarly. He shifts his weight underneath you as Tailgate gets settled on the floor. One of his arms wraps tight around your waist, holding you pinned against his chest. And then he says, “Hold on.”

You’re a little distracted right how, which is definitely your excuse for why you don’t notice what he has planned until he puts it into action.

Cyclonus goes up on his knees and then bends over forward, taking you with him. He braces his free hand on the floor beside Tailgate, but his other arm is still tight and unyielding around your waist, keeping you right where you are, and, more importantly, keeping his spike in your valve. It shifts in you, oh it  _ definitely _ shifts, and as you struggle to get your arms and legs situated, it shifts more. Your vocalizer glitches out one or five times before you’re done. But, priorities! Instead of how embarrassingly nonexistent your self-control is, what’s  _ important  _ is that you’re braced over Tailgate with Cyclonus leaning heavy and hot against your back. 

Tailgate beams up at both of you. “Perfect! Let me just—”

He slides himself a little further down, just far enough that he manages to hook his legs over yours. You, of course, are still struggling to keep up with current events. You’ve just gotten as far as realizing that the logistics of this will probably need a  _ little _ help from you, when Cyclonus steps in instead. His arm leaves your waist, and instead, you feel his hand on your spike.

Oh, that’s— You are  _ not _ going to overload right now, you are going to hold out until you give Tailgate at least a semi-decent fragging, come on, you have  _ some  _ standards. Out of practice, that’s what you are. And let’s  _ not _ think about how much practice you may or may not be getting in coming days, no no no, just focus on the moment. 

Then Cyclonus pushes even deeper into you, pressing you forward— Into Tailgate. That’s what his hand is there for, he’s in you, he’s got a hand on your spike, and that’s Tailgate’s valve you feel there, hot and  _ tight _ and you  _ want _ this—

_ “Wait,” _ your voice is strangled and the word isn’t very clear, but Cyclonus and Tailgate both instantly freeze.

“Are you okay?” Tailgate asks. “Do you need space?”

Space? No,  _ no,  _ the opposite of that is what you’re after, but. There was a question. You swear you had a question. “Do you need….?” That’s not an actual full sentence. Come on, this shouldn’t be this hard. “This isn’t too  _ much,  _ right? You can…?”

_ There,  _ you can see Tailgate’s face light up as he gets it. He laughs again, reaching up to pat the side of your face. “I’m good! You’re going to fit just  _ fine.” _

You relax, and you can feel Cyclonus relax against your back at the same time. And this time when his hips press forward against you, you don’t resist. You shudder at the feeling as your spike slides into Tailgate’s valve. It’s  _ tight,  _ tight enough that you almost start to worry about him again, but when you force your optic to focus in on his face, he looks perfectly at ease.

Cyclonus pushes steadily forward until you’re buried in Tailgate, and there, he pauses. His hand leaves your array as he reaches up to cup the side of Tailgate’s helm again. From this angle, you can’t really see his face, just Tailgate’s, but you can just  _ tell _ what kind of look they’re exchanging right now. Seems a little awkward shoving yourself right in the middle of that, but hey, that’s apparently how things worked out.

Before you have time to overthink that point too badly, Cyclonus rises up on his knees and sets both his hands on your hips. He asks, “You’re ready?”

“Ready!” says Tailgate.

You echo, “Ready.”

And then Cyclonus starts to  _ move. _

You don’t, you don’t know how you’re supposed to think your way to the end of a sentence like this, when every scrap of processing space is taken up by the way Cyclonus is filling you to your limit, setting off all your internal sensors over and over and over, and driving your spike forward into Tailgate, so hot and so tight it’s nearly pain, so intense you feel like you  _ should _ want to stop, except that stopping would be the worst possible thing anyone could do to you right now.

Cyclonus doesn’t say a word, the only sound you hear from him is the noise of his fans, running so loud and hard that you have to wonder whether he’s about to break something. Tailgate is more vocal, though it isn’t ever quite words, just appreciative sound, bursts of static as you press forward into him, the way he gasps and his vocalizer glitches when he puts a hand down between his legs,and you can just barely see, but he’s rubbing his node just above where your spike is stretching him out so far that it’s hard to believe he’s able to even take you—

You  _ aren’t _ the first one to overload, to your surprise. Cyclonus tips over the edge first, curling forward over your back so far that his helm brushes your plating.  _ Now _ he loses a little self control with the strength, and you feel your plating dent under his hands. Nothing serious, barely anything visible, but between that perfect ache and the heat of his transfluid flooding your valve, you barely, barely manage to hold yourself back from overload.

By the time it’s over, you realize you’ve frozen where you are, still over Tailgate,  _ in _ Tailgate, not moving as Cyclonus slumps over your back and gasps. You’re shivering, you think, though if anyone tries to mention that, you are  _ absolutely _ blaming either or both of them for being the  _ real _ culprits and refusing to discuss the situation ever again and oh  _ Primus _ you need to overload so badly it hurts.

Cyclonus reaches between you and Tailgate, and you’re so out of it that you have no idea what he’s doing, but then you feel him get a hand on Tailgate’s spike— Your poor overclocked processor is still trying to catch up, but Tailgate arches up underneath you, grabbing at your plating. He must be even closer than you are, because he overloads, and his valve clenches even harder around you, and Cyclonus’s spike still hasn’t depressurized yet, and you can still  _ feel _ the heat of his transfluid inside you, and that’s it, no going back, this is the point of no return, you overload  _ hard,  _ trapped between the two of them, the heat from both their overloads heating you up even further, and their hands on your frame and in your frame, dragging your overload out so long you can barely stand it.

Wow, okay.

You pause where you are a moment to reset your ventilation systems, your optics, your vocalizer. Basically everything. You are out of  _ practice. _

Then Tailgate draws his fingers out of your vents and asks, “Again?”

You lose it and just absolutely crack up laughing. Words, you swear you can do words, though it’s hard to make it to the end of a sentence without losing it in laughter.  _ “What happened to the sweet mech I used to know?” _

Behind you, you can hear the faint puff of air that is Cyclonus not-laughing, but underneath you, Tailgate laughs openly and reaches up to draw your helm down so he can bump his forehead against yours. “Only if you want to!” he says. “I know  _ I  _ could keep going, but that doesn’t mean  _ you _ have to.”

“You’re a menace,” you inform him, and he laughs again. “A sexy little menace. And does this look like the face of a quitter? Bring it on, I can go just as long as you.”

That is, one, a blatant lie, and two, almost definitely going to come back to bite you in the aft, but shhh, you’re not thinking about that. You  _ want _ to keep going. You might not be sure how exactly you’re planning to manage that, but you’re going to make it happen.

And hey, the pleased little noise that Tailgate makes is pretty solid incentive to make good on that boasting. Besides, it’s not just Tailgate. You’re pretty sure Cyclonus is much too dignified for things like  _ noise,  _ but he bends down low over your back, his hips still pressed against yours even though both of your arrays are shut away by now. And is that— was that his mouth against your plating? Did he just kiss you?  _ Huh. _

Then Cyclonus says, “Hardlines?”

Tailgate is faster to process that than you are and pushes himself up onto one elbow, frowning over your shoulder. “You’re the one who’s been telling  _ me  _ not to push—”

“Sure,” you say, before the impending argument can escalate into an actual argument. And before you can overthink things. “Hardlines? Why not! Let’s do this thing.”

They both freeze. Tailgate is studying your face, and you can just  _ feel _ Cyclonus watching you even more closely.

Carefully, Tailgate says, “You’re sure? You don’t  _ need _ to, you know that, right?”

“No, let’s make this  _ happen,” _ you say, very aggressively not thinking about the issue. Your array is saying yes very loudly, they’re the ones who are offering in the first place, and you want to just… let this be a  _ thing _ before you can decide you ought to talk yourself out of it.

Cyclonus pushes up onto his knees and away from you, which is less than ideal, even if it makes good sense. And it probably means you ought to get up too, which is even worse. Truly, this is the worst night of your life.

You never really get  _ up- _ up, you sort of just roll over so that you’re sitting (sprawling) on the floor, leaning on your elbows. Tailgate doesn’t even bother getting up at all. He stays where he is, though he does scoot over a little so that you’re hip to hip, looking up at Cyclonus.

Who takes something from his subspace and holds it out for your consideration. You peer at the little device in his hand. Is that—?

“A  _ splitter?”  _ you cackle. “You’ve just been, what, walking around carrying a  _ splitter _ in your subspace, what, in case someone just  _ happened _ to be down for a three-way hardline? How long did you have that? You’ve  _ gotta _ tell me how long you’ve been carrying that thing around, I will literally die if you don’t tell me.”

Primly, he says, “It was a practical item to acquire in the event that it might be needed.”

You might not literally die, but you are seriously  _ dying _ right now. “For all those hardline threesomes you two have been having fun with, right. You should have told me you were all about this wild and crazy lifestyle you apparently live, I would have adjusted all my expectations for what I was walking into.”

Tailgate elbows you in the side, though he’s obviously fighting hard not to laugh too. “You can tease him later! For now, you have  _ got  _ to feel what it’s like to jack into him. Cyclonus, come down here—”

You have to sit up for real and curl your legs in to make space for Cyclonus to sit facing the two of you. Tailgate manages to slip in under your arm as Cyclonus gets settled, leaning up against your side and resting one arm on your leg.

Neither of them wastes any time, Cyclonus pops open a port under the edge of his chest plate, super casually, like he does this all the time (you mean, he probably does, this is an  _ enthusiastic  _ marriage) and plugs in the splitter. Tailgate is already right there unspooling his cable and handing it to Cyclonus, then settling back in against your side, looking expectantly up at you. Oh, ha, right. You’re the one holding things up right now, that’s no good.

You hand off your cable with no problems, and you’re looking forward to a good time, but you’re a little skeptical it’s going to be  _ as _ good as Tailgate is making it out to be. You spent a long, long time with the Wreckers, you’ve seen a thing or two in your life—

You are… wrong. Absolutely entirely completely wrong. Just that first brush of their minds inside yours is intense enough to make you grateful you’re already sitting down, and that’s just establishing access permissions between their processors and yours.

The moment they’re all the way  _ in,  _ you lose track of your entire frame. Hell, you lose track of everything outside of the hardline. They’re in such perfect sync that for a moment you think you’ve only got one of them in your head, but then there’s no way that strut-deep, rock-solid steadiness and bubbling, exuberant joyfulness are coming at the same time from one singular mech, and you realize that this is the two of them together, moving like a single unit. 

A three-way connection ought to be harder to parse than a basic two-way hardline, you’ve got three minds bouncing off each other and responding to each other and it takes much longer for everything to settle out and become coherent, but you guess that doesn’t really apply when two of the participants are so familiar with each other you’d think they spent days at a time just jacked into each other’s processors. For all you know, maybe they do! You had no idea what kind of relationship you were apparently diving into, you’re done being surprised by  _ anything _ they do.

You lean harder into the connection, not that you’d really be able to lean  _ out _ without some help, and sink into the feeling of their processes flowing around you. You’re getting surface thoughts right now, nothing too serious, not when they’re responding to what’s at the top of your mind while you’re simultaneously experiencing it. It’s still intense, both of them together, but that’s easy enough. Then you slide into their emotional subsystems.

The first thing that happens is that you run headlong into a wall of affection that sends you reeling hard enough you feel your actual physical body sway. You hadn’t really thought too much about what you’d find in here, just— You know, the basics. Having fun, running a charge, the usual when it comes to fragging. Not  _ this.  _ And they’re just— letting it sit right out in the open. You are  _ drowning  _ in how much they apparently—  _ like  _ you.

_ Of course we do  _ pulses across the connection, along with some concern and worry over your reaction. No, nope, your reaction is  _ perfectly normal,  _ thanks, nothing out of the ordinary here, they’re the weird ones for letting those emotions hang right out there for anyone to see. And the affection doesn’t fade either, the concern and worry linger, plus there’s an undercurrent of appreciation that’s a lot more like what you’re used to. That’s right, they  _ appreciate _ the fun time they’re having with you, that is a good and correct response, because you’re pretty awesome that way.

And that’s a mistake, because the affection intensifies even more, enough that it’s hard to think around it. You can feel Cyclonus and Tailgate in your thoughts, feeling your emotions, but those are just  _ your _ emotions, that’s not something you can use to center yourself, not while you’re up in their heads. You grab blindly for a memory, any memory, something to hold onto to keep yourself steady, and feel Tailgate helpfully nudge something in your direction.

It’s the memory of when you told them now is good, and Tailgate realized you really wanted to do this. You can feel the excitement and happiness bubbling up in him as he looks up at, at  _ your  _ face, feel the way his frame starts heating up at just the idea of you and them together and that you want to do this right  _ now—  _

Cyclonus delicately inserts a memory of his own into the connection, the matching memory to Tailgate’s. There’s his concern over the idea they might pressure you into doing things you don’t want to do, the idea that you might go along with those things just to keep them happy (that’s fair), and the way that worry fades in the face of anticipation and pleasure as you confirm that yes, you really do want to do this. Except he doesn’t even think of it in terms of ‘doing this’, he phrases it as ‘sharing this with them.’

Oh, this is a lot. You did not know what you were getting into. And both of them are enjoying your memories of the same moment as well, their pleasure (and relief?) at knowing for certain that you really  _ did  _ mean it when you said you wanted this, their delight at knowing that you’re enjoying this, enjoying  _ them _ , quiet and carefully restrained from Cyclonus and exuberant from Tailgate, but intense enough from each of them that it’s hard to handle. 

And they’re more on top of things than you are. Probably because of  _ extensive _ sexy experience, the reprobates (that gets you a burst of amusement from both of them). They’re still drifting through the memory files you’ve opened up to them, which isn’t that much, mostly just what you’ve archived since coming to live with them. They’ve got  _ years _ and years open for you to browse, but you’re still working on dealing with the recent history, you’re not even thinking about diving deeper yet.  _ Plus _ they’re moving past just watching your memories, they’re starting to deliberately brush against other subsystems, directly stimulating them, and distantly, you can feel the heat in your frame start to build again.

But even then, they  _ still  _ have the focus to nudge other memories in your direction. There’s Tailgate’s memory of that first day here, reinforced by him repeating across the connection that  _ we want you with us,  _ and Cyclonus brushing against his mind, a brief warning that pressuring you is still potentially an issue, and is that— is that  _ concern?  _ For you?? 

_ Of course it is  _ comes across the connection, both of them at once, and that affection swells again. There are little quick flashes of memory, the moment when they told you they’d saved you the spare room, a late night catching up on shows when you straight-up fell asleep on Cyclonus’s shoulder— when did that even happen? You don’t have time to answer that question before there’s memories of Cyclonus telling you that the watchmaking supplies were in the spare room for you, their joint satisfaction at finding an apartment that suited all their needs  _ and _ had a balcony for the guest room, planning the trip to see— to take you with them to see your old friends, even the anticipation of getting ready for your arrival and trying not to be too anxious about counting down the hours, but then the delight and relief when they opened their door and saw you—

It’s too much. The affection flowing across the connection is getting more and more intense with each passing memory, both of them feeding off each other’s feelings and your reactions to everything they’re showing you, and it’s all too much. You’ve barely even articulated that thought to yourself when they cut those memories off, choke off most of that emotional flow, and shunt you off into a memory of the two of them flying together over some alien landscape you don’t recognize.

And they’re acting in real life too, you realize. And— no. That was too much, but— You force yourself back into your frame and manage  _ just _ enough coordination to catch their hands before they can finish reaching for the cables to disconnect you. And that’s about all you can manage with both of their minds still pulling you down deep into the connection, but you do your best to pulse  _ don’t you dare  _ across the hardline. That was too much, but stopping now would be even worse.

That gets you some skepticism from both of them, but they tentatively let the connection open wider again, letting more emotions through. There’s a momentary debate that you catch the edge of, but you’re still obviously not as good at following their processors as they are at following each others, and you only realize what the topic of discussion is when they slip you into a different memory. This is an alien planet again, but a different one. It’s night, the two of you—the two of them—are at the top of a cliff overlooking a river valley, the landscape lit by several moons hanging in the sky above, and you’re getting both their memories at once as they turn to each other, a double dose of affection, loving, and  _ wanting— _

Ah, you see what they did there. That memory keeps playing out for you across the connection, you don’t make any move to shift away from it. You’re deep in the memory, watching and  _ feeling _ as they reach out to each other, ease and familiarity and desire, while they sink deeper into your processor again, brushing right up against your pleasure centers. You return the favor, as best as you can, but there’s two of them and one of you, and you’ve pretty much established that even though you’re out of practice, you were never as much  _ in _ practice as both of them apparently are.

Even that thought gets you a quick pulse of reassurance and affection, though not enough to knock you out of the memory. You can definitely feel your frame responding now. It would be hard  _ not _ to respond. Just the memory would probably do it, when you’re feeling your hands on Cyclonus’s frame, but also feeling Tailgate’s hands as they drift across your plating, and  _ also  _ feeling that intense love and desire that’s a lot easier to handle when it’s not aimed directly at you. Your spike is a tight almost painful pressure behind your array panel until Tailgate tells you to open, and you don’t know if  _ your _ panel was already open or if that memory just did it, but you feel the doubled satisfaction of Tailgate in the memory reacting to Cyclonus, and Tailgate in the present, reacting to  _ you. _

Basically, you don’t stand a chance. You’re not in the driver’s seat, you’re just strapped in for the sexy, sexy ride. That gets you amusement from Tailgate and concern from Cyclonus, and then both of them are there again, checking to be sure that this is okay, this is what you want, tell them if anything is wrong. Oh yes, this is  _ very _ okay, you’re just coming to terms with the fact that you are one hundred percent at their mercy, but they’re making an excellent case for putting yourself at their mercy  _ plenty  _ of additional times in the future. There you go, that’s satisfaction from both of them, and an affection with purpose behind it, and you can feel them leaning into the connection harder, building the charge in your pleasure centers in sync with their memory.

Maybe you should be embarrassed at how much this is doing it for you without anyone even touching your actual array even once, but right now, you are having way too much fun to care. Especially with the doubled physical and emotional feedback from the shared memory, you don’t stand a chance. You can feel the heat building in your frame and between your legs, but short of breaking off the hardline (not happening), there’s no way you could stop this. 

In the memory, Cyclonus lies propped up on his elbow with Tailgate kneeling between his legs, one of his hands on Cyclonus’s spike, one buried to the wrist in his valve, and you can  _ feel _ the pressure of that hand inside you and the rhythm of his other hand on your spike. You overload when the memory of Cyclonus does. His head falls back and he calls Tailgate’s name, his voice hoarse, and you can’t tell where the memory of his overload stops and where your overload begins, you just  _ feel _ both of them at the same time, drawn out and out, and yours doesn’t stop until he slumps back against the ground, Tailgate carefully easing his hand from his valve and leaning over to ask how he’s doing.

_ That _ lets a bit of the urgency of the connection slip away, what a surprise, and you become just enough aware of the real world to realize that the other two moved while you were distracted. Cyclonus is sitting next to you now, his arm around your back.  _ Supporting _ you, you realize. You’ll have to remember to be embarrassed about that later. Tailgate is kneeling between your legs and Cyclonus’s, one hand on your thigh, the other—

The memory isn’t done, and they’re watching it as much as you are. Cyclonus in the memory reaches up to Tailgate with unsteady hands, drawing him upward, to kneel across Cyclonus’s head, and you can  _ feel _ it as Cyclonus buries his face between your— between Tailgate’s legs. You pull out of the memory just enough to glance at them. Their optics are offline, but you can see Tailgate’s hand between Cyclonus’s legs, rubbing his node. And your angle isn’t as good for Tailgate, but you’re almost positive Cyclonus has a few fingers inside him. Actually— They open the connection even wider for you, and now you can feel the sensation of their memories,  _ and _ you can feel their hands on each other’s arrays in the present. A round four isn’t happening, you’re pretty sure, but you’re less sure than you were just a few nanokliks ago.

There isn’t a round four. They finish when the memory finishes, leaning into each other—and into you—as they shake through their overloads. The memory trails off, and the connection just leaves you drifting in a haze of exhausted, lazy affection and fondness, and you can’t even properly tell which thoughts originate with you and which originate with them. Probably you should break the connection at some point, but manual dexterity… can be someone else’s problem, you’re not sure if you can manage staying upright on your own.

Tailgate manages to get that done, even takes care of tucking your cable back into your chest and closing up your port for you. Cyclonus subspaces the splitter, but you are  _ absolutely _ going to have to remember to tease him for just casually carrying that thing around while he goes about his daily business. 

And then what? Sleep? Sleep sounds good. Standing? Less good. You are not a fan of standing. Not a fan. In fact, you think you’re just going to sleep right here on this floor.

You mumble something to that effect and get ready to flop, but apparently that kicks Cyclonus into action, because before you can get your flop on, he groans softly and heaves himself to his feet. Tailgate isn’t far behind him, standing and stretching his arms up above his head until you hear his spinal struts pop. Now that’s all well and good, but standing is still not for you. You live on the floor now.

They ignore your protests and help you up to your feet as well. You aren’t  _ fighting _ exactly, but this isn’t easy for anyone, yourself included. Embarrassing, yes, but just remember,  _ you’re _ not the one who casually suggests three rounds of fragging like that’s a normal everyday thing that people just do. You  _ deserve _ to be tired right now.

Still. You lean on Cyclonus and let them help you down the hall to your room. And… past your room. And further past your room. You’re at the door of their berth room right now and they’re still not realizing they forgot something.

“I think we missed my stop,” you mumble.

Tailgate glances up at you. “Oh. We thought—?”

“If you’d prefer,” Cyclonus adds.

Now, you might be half into recharge right now, but you  _ know _ that neither of those was a complete thought. “Yeah?”

They exchange a quick glance past your face, and you are  _ way  _ too sleepy to pick up on whatever it is they’re trying to tell each other.

Tailgate says, “When we got the new apartment, if you’re interested— We bought a  _ very _ large berth.”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ You think you might have exhausted your ability to be surprised at the things they do. But you think— You  _ are _ surprised at how okay with the situation you are. You don’t even argue with yourself about why this is a bad idea and you shouldn’t do it. Which is good, because the more you think about it, the more you think you honestly want this to happen. 

You sprawl on the berth and the two of them settle in on either side of you, each with one hand resting on your frame. You can feel the heat of their frames against your plating and hear the faint hum of their fans. And you don’t have much energy to think hard about the situation, you’re starting to drift off into recharge already. But your last thought before you sleep is that the more you think about this, the more you think you’re… happy.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/181520261848/water-up-to-my-knees-spockandawe-the)


End file.
